


A Long Time Coming

by gridelinCarver



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher (Video Game), Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Ciaran is Alive, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Consent, M/M, Mentioned Cedric (The Witcher), Mentioned Cedric/Ciaran aep Easnillien, Mentioned Cedric/Iorveth (The Witcher), Multiple Orgasms, Past Cedric/Ciaran aep Easnillien, Past Cedric/Iorveth (The Witcher), Past Relationship(s), Past Violence, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Scars, because I say so, ciaran is very pretty, like the plot is feelings, mentions of whipping/flogging (just noting scars not in a sexual way), so many feelings. like so many
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-13
Updated: 2020-09-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 02:54:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,706
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26439844
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gridelinCarver/pseuds/gridelinCarver
Summary: Iorveth put his hands on either side of Ciaran’s face, stroked his cheeks softly, pressed his lips to his; he wished to fix all the trouble he’d caused, make up for the lost years since Ciaran’s first admission, that first kiss.
Relationships: Ciaran aep Easnillien/Iorveth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 24





	A Long Time Coming

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Squoxie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Squoxie/gifts), [thechemicalgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thechemicalgirl/gifts).



> I've been hyperfixated on Iorveth for half a year now, and have a truly ridiculous amount of narrative and headcanon crafted for him, but can't seem to get it down in story form. so all I have to show for it is this sweet little hypothetical plotless thing of Iorveth and Ciaran finally being able to come together after so many years, annnnd I hope you enjoy!
> 
> (explicit smut warning but you knew that)

It is, in truth, all too easy to bring Ciaran to his bed. Easier than Iorveth thought it might be,  _ worried _ it would be. But… it was also a long time coming, since far before Ciaran reappeared in Vergen, before Iorveth thought he lost Ciaran forever. Feelings Iorveth was not ready to admit, not ready to succumb to, but he’s  _ beyond _ ready now and Ciaran’s lips on his feel like assurance, like relief, like finding home.

Their kisses insistent as Iorveth found himself pressing Ciaran against a countertop, flicking his tapered tongue at the insides of Ciaran’s teeth and swallowing his gasps. A leg slipped between Ciaran’s, thigh firm against his arousal, and a stifled noise of shock and pleasure escaped Ciaran’s lips.

_ “Iorveth…” _ __he sighed, hips stuttering for friction. His heart leaped at hearing his name breathed in such a way, and Iorveth stole the chance to nudge Ciaran’s head to the side with a firm kiss to the cheek, nosed his ear lightly, then began to mouth at the sensitive bit of skin just behind Ciaran’s jaw.

Ciaran’s fingers threaded into Iorveth’s soft hair as he allowed his head to fall back, letting loose a breathy moan. Iorveth smirked against his neck,  _ deeply _ pleased by Ciaran’s reactions, then pushed his thigh upwards slightly, adding pressure just so, felt Ciaran grind his hips down and tighten his grip in Iorveth’s hair and then softly cry out.

“Did you just…?” Iorveth breathed in awe, pulling away when he felt Ciaran nod his head so he could take in Ciaran’s almost  _ sheepish _ expression. Iorveth felt himself stiffening and straining in his own trousers, stirred by the touching and contact, but also by the mere  _ knowledge _ that gorgeous Ciaran was so affected by him, so eager that he’d already come once without even removing clothes. Ciaran worried his lower lip between his teeth, face flushed.

“I only—I hadn’t ever thought —” Ciaran tried feebly, a hand moving to cover his face in embarrassment. “You turned me away, once, so I hardly dared to  _ hope _ that we would…”

  
  
“I know, and I’m sorry to have caused you hurt,” Iorveth soothed, covering Ciaran’s hand with his own, pulling it away gently so he could look into Ciaran’s honeyed eyes. Truly, he  _ was _ sorry, but he’d recognized the all-too-fervent admiration in Ciaran at the time, the pedestal he’d unwittingly placed Iorveth on. “I was too guarded, then, and you thought too much of me —it wouldn’t have been right.”

  
  
Iorveth put his hands on either side of Ciaran’s face, stroked his cheeks softly, pressed his lips to his; he wished to fix all the trouble he’d caused, make up for the lost years since Ciaran’s first admission, that first kiss. Despite the necessity of the rejection, Iorveth wished things might have been different, if only so the insecurity and hesitance so clear in Ciaran’s features would go away, so this lovely young elf could experience the warmth and affection he so dearly deserved.

“But now,  _ now _ it is right. More than right.” Iorveth had hardly ever been so sure of anything in his near two centuries of life.

Their mouths met again as Ciaran nodded, and when Iorveth gestures to the next room Ciaran follows eagerly and without question, the way he always has. Fumbling hands find their way under tunics, tugging them up and over to reveal more skin. Soon, Iorveth is sitting on the bed with Ciaran kneeling above him, uncertainty and an unspoken question in his eyes as he rests his fingers at the band of Iorveth’s trousers.

Iorveth nods his assent without hesitation, because this is  _ Ciaran, _ __his most trusted, his right-hand-elf, and slings an arm around Ciaran’s shoulders to pull him in and kiss him hotly. Ciaran slips his hand underneath the waistband to wrap his fingers around Iorveth’s slender shaft just as Iorveth sucks Ciaran’s lower lip between his own, and both elves inhale sharply.

Ciaran’s other, free hand hovers over Iorveth’s body, briefly brushing his hip, as if he wanted to grasp but then thought better of it, then touching Iorveth’s arm before coming to rest on the bed. Iorveth lets out a little, breathy laugh.

“Darling Ciaran, feel  _ free _ to touch wherever you’d like,” Iorveth tells him, fond but smug. It’s endearing, really, Ciaran’s slight hesitation, but Iorveth still wants to be  _ touched. _ __He very deliberately moves Ciaran’s hand to his waist. Ciaran smirks and flicks his thumb over the soft head, to make Iorveth gasp and stop _ talking, _ __and then when Iorveth tries to buck his hips upward into the warmth and friction, Ciaran’s newly positioned hand keeps him firmly down. Iorveth hisses at the pressure, at not being allowed to move, then scoffs at the expression on Ciaran’s face and pulls Ciaran in to press their lips together again.

The skilled fingers send heat shooting through his body as they stroke, Iorveth’s breath coming faster, more erratic, desperate for  _ something. _ __He pulls more at Ciaran as his muscles tense and his back arches, the wet slide of their mouths almost rough.

“How’s that, then?” Ciaran damn near  _ purrs, _ __and Iorveth almost snarls, groaning low instead as Ciaran speeds his pace. Who knew Ciaran would be so _ frustrating? _ He writhes against Ciaran’s iron grip on his hipbone, finally thrusting upwards and gasping as pleasure sings through his nerves.

“Oh,  _ gods—” _ __Iorveth’s head falls back as he arches and comes in Ciaran’s hand, holding Ciaran fiercely close with both arms clutching at his shoulders. As his heavy breaths grow calmer and he slowly looks back down, he sees that Ciaran is _ staring _ at him unabashedly, his face flushed with heat and adoration. Iorveth quirks an eyebrow at him, one corner of his lips twitching upward.

“I had not believed you could be any more beautiful,” Ciaran murmurs, his eyes shining.

Iorveth feels his ears redden as he turns his head away and playfully bats Ciaran’s face, laughing softly. He wants to deny it, to say that he once was  _ far _ more beautiful, before the world had worn on him so thoroughly, but Ciaran is so genuine and so bright in his affections, the same way he is in his unwavering belief in their cause, that Iorveth cannot bear to say anything that might dim his glow.

Instead, Iorveth settles for pulling Ciaran down with him onto his bed—not quite meant for two, as Iorveth is not one to find company of this sort, but he does not want any space between himself and Ciaran anyway, wants to keep him close, and so its size works just fine for him.

As well, it seems, for Ciaran, who lets out a delighted laugh of his own and tugs Iorveth closer, half on top of him, really, to kiss him again. Iorveth acquiesces gracefully, sighing and allowing Ciaran to explore his mouth, his tongue finding the gaps from missing teeth, another reminder of what Iorveth lost when he was carved open that day. But Ciaran shows no disgust or hesitation, only the same admiration he holds for Iorveth in all regards, so when he pulls away to meet Iorveth’s gaze and touch the leather band covering his missing eye, Iorveth nods.

Ciaran has already seen Iorveth’s bare face, because he does not hide the scar when among his fellow Aen Seidhe, but it is  _ different _ now, with their noses still touching and hot breath mingling between them.

The band is tugged off and Ciaran smiles warmly, almost apologetically, so Iorveth rolls his eye and leans down to capture Ciaran’s lips fiercely, one hand spread on Ciaran’s cheek and one at his collarbone. As he tilts his head to deepen the kiss, he grinds his hips downward to feel Ciaran stiff yet again, and Ciaran gasps and makes a small near-whimper into Iorveth’s mouth.

Iorveth smirks and pulls back, taking in Ciaran’s dazed expression through a half-lidded eye. “Hm?” he teases, rolling his hips again. “What would you like, dearest Ciaran?”

“Ah—just  _ you, _ __Iorveth—anything, _ everything,” _ __Ciaran manages between his uneven breaths.

“And will this ___ ‘anything’ _ require me to bring out any oils?” he feigns innocence, fluttering his long lashes. Ciaran nods  _ immediately, _ __and Iorveth can’t help a light chuckle. “Hm, you may need to be more _ clear _ for the future, little love, but if you insist.”

Iorveth is loath to relinquish the contact, but he pushes himself off the bed to shuffle around in his drawer and acquire the small tub of a soft, plant-based butter, formulated for the type of activity he’s fairly certain Ciaran is encouraging. The container is almost full—Iorveth has not had any partners in his house in Vergen, and he rarely makes time to pleasure himself, even less so in that manner. Now, he suspects the tub will get more use, if Ciaran’s enthusiasm is anything to go by.

When he turns back to his partner, he finds Ciaran propped on one elbow and a look of slight concern and sadness in his face. Iorveth climbs back over him, setting the tub beside them in easy reach.

“What is it, en’ca minne?” Iorveth asks, brows furrowing. He trails one hand up the curling vine tattoos of Ciaran’s arm, kisses Ciaran’s cheek softly.

Ciaran brings his arms up to trace his fingers along the thin, vertical welts on Iorveth’s back. “I’d never seen this before. What are they…?”

“Nothing that causes me pain any longer,” Iorveth assures him with a bittersweet smile. He pauses for a moment, but when Ciaran remains silent he continues. “A… a flogging, but from over a century before you ever breathed. I was just over half your age. I would rather not bare that memory in this particular moment, if you don’t mind. Later, perhaps.”

Iorveth strokes his thumb on Ciaran’s cheekbone as Ciaran nods, notes with fondness the slight smattering of very light freckles.

“However, right now I would  _ much _ rather focus on  _ you,” _ __Iorveth says, a twinkle of mischief returning to his eye. Ciaran grins at that, but there’s a wide-eyed look to him, as if he doesn’t know what to ask, what to expect, and it’s _ wondrous. _ __“So what _ is _ it you’d like of me, darling? I’m afraid you’ve been quite vague on the matter.”

Ciaran blushes anew as Iorveth’s mind wanders, thinking of all the lovely ways he can coax Ciaran into falling apart, into losing all his control, all inhibitions. He’ll have time to try each one, but right now he wants to fulfill  _ Ciaran’s _ desires, whatever they may be.

“I think,” Ciaran starts, face still red with embarrassment. He brings a hand up to cover his face as Iorveth hums encouragingly. “I think you… you’re so talented with your—” Ciaran stops and takes a deep breath.

“My…?”

“Your  _ mouth, _ __Iorveth, what _ else?” _ __he finally admits, exasperated. Iorveth scoffs fondly at that.

“I believe people generally say talented with my  _ words, _ __although mouth does rather apply here, doesn’t it?” Iorveth teases with another small smirk. But… he recognizes that Ciaran is overwhelmed—Ciaran has wanted this for a long time, for years, and he hadn’t known he could _ have _ it, and on top of that he likely has far less experience than Iorveth does. Iorveth’s lovers number low enough that he can count them on one hand, admittedly, but in most cases they lasted for a while, so he  _ does _ generally know what he’s doing. And he wants Ciaran to have all the pleasure in the world with none of the anxiety, never wants him to feel forced or coerced. “And, Ciaran,  _ please _ let me know immediately if anything is ever too much, if ever you need to simply pause. All I want is your enjoyment. I never want to take things too far.”

“Of course,” Ciaran agrees, and then he leans up to kiss Iorveth again, sweet and lingering, his hands gingerly holding Iorveth’s face and neck. He looks indecisive, for a moment, then steels himself. “I will, if it is necessary, but—I want—”

Ciaran gestures weakly before dropping his head back onto the pillow, and Iorveth snorts. “Mhm. Now where was I?”

With that, Ciaran sighs as Iorveth  _ finally _ begins kissing his way down Ciaran’s body. He starts with the side of Ciaran’s neck, touches his lips to the vines there before dragging his mouth down to the collarbone. Ciaran’s fingers thread into the soft strands of Iorveth’s hair as Iorveth hums and sucks gently at a spot he’s found.

“You  _ could _ —ah, leave a mark,” Ciaran suggests hesitantly, his voice unsure and growing quiet at the last words.

Iorveth’s eye lights up. “I’d been meaning to ask,” he admits in a whisper, intending to ease some of Ciaran’s worry. “Would you like me to, love?”

  
  
_“Yes,”_ __Ciaran breathes, his hesitation gone, and Iorveth pushes himself up to quickly peck Ciaran’s lips with a smile.

“And you can—well, I like a little hair-pulling.” Iorveth is always slow to admit what he wants, but Ciaran rewards him for it with a bright grin. He wastes no time, then, in moving back to Ciaran’s collarbone and sucking some of the skin into his mouth.

Ciaran gasps lightly and then gives a soft moan as Iorveth continues his efforts, using his tongue to soothe the flesh and add pleasure to the gentle pain. Their eyes meet as Ciaran brushes hair out of Iorveth’s face and then tugs experimentally, which earns a contented noise from Iorveth. Iorveth remains there for a few moments, giving a small bite for good measure, and then releases the skin to watch the red bloom amongst the vines.

“It seems even plants of ink can bear fruit,” Ciaran quips with a quirk of his lips. Iorveth snorts and taps his face in a mock-slap, shaking his head at Ciaran’s all-too-pleased expression.

Iorveth feels Ciaran’s hips shift impatiently, and he grins to himself before continuing to brush his mouth along the toned planes of Ciaran’s abdomen. There’s a sharp inhale when Iorveth lightly kisses Ciaran’s lower belly, at the sensitive skin under his navel, and then Iorveth’s fingers hook the waistband of Ciaran’s pants as he looks up for confirmation. Ciaran, for his part, lifts his lower body almost instantly, and Iorveth smiles again as he tugs the trousers and smallclothes down and off Ciaran’s legs, tossing them aside.

As much as he’d like to take in the appearance of Ciaran’s pretty pink cock with its delightful little curve, the fact that this  _ gorgeous _ elf is completely bare before him, Iorveth hears Ciaran’s high and long exhale of anticipation. His lips press to the crown softly, and he smells the spend from earlier, before opening his mouth to cover the first inch or so, his tongue soft and relaxed, warm and wet on the sensitive head.

Ciaran bites his lip and whimpers, once, his hips wiggling against the sheets, and tugs at Iorveth’s hair. Iorveth looks up through his lashes to find Ciaran’s eyes half-lidded and hazy, lips pink and kiss-swollen, and he makes a small moan of appreciation before sliding his mouth further down. Ciaran smiles at him weakly, encouragingly, before Iorveth moves down again, working his tongue on the underside and then Ciaran is throwing his head back and letting out a soft moan.

“Gods, you’re so—this is so  _ nice,” _ __Ciaran breathes out shakily, between gasps. “Oh—Ior- _ veth _ —Iorveth, it’s so  _ good.” _

Iorveth hums contentedly around the cock in his mouth, eliciting another low sound from Ciaran, and finally sinks all the way down, the wiry hairs at the base brushing at Iorveth’s nose. Ciaran  _ whines, _ __long and high, as he’s enveloped in warmth and pleasure, his fingers clenching, and Iorveth groans at the pull on his hair.

He notices some scrambled patting of the sheets and then Ciaran is pressing the small tub, now open, under Iorveth’s hand. Iorveth raises one brow, but the message is clear.

Iorveth smiles and nods, pressing his tongue on the underside of Ciaran’s cock as he pulls off.

“Have you ever…?” Iorveth asks as he dips his fingers in the smooth, butter-like substance, nuzzling his nose at the shaft still.

“ _ I _ have, yes,” Ciaran answers, voice shaky. “But—only to myself. No one else has.”

There’s a pause as Iorveth hums his understanding, kisses the head again, moves his hand nearer. Then Ciaran clears his throat, and continues.

“I did ask once. The one time I had sex proper with someone. He—said he didn’t trust himself to, so we did things the other way around instead.”

Iorveth looks up and raises an eyebrow quizzically. It’s strange that Ciaran felt the need to elaborate; Iorveth would never have paid any mind to Ciaran’s previous partners (or partner, as it were). Although, it is  _ also _ strange that Ciaran was with a partner who didn’t trust himself to do this. He hopes Ciaran will take the invitation to continue.

He does.

“Cedric and I ran into each other one afternoon. After he’d left the Scoia’tael,” Ciaran starts cautiously. “I spent the night.”

_ Oh. _ __Iorveth breathes in, presses his lips together. Cedric was… the great love of Iorveth’s life, a love that had lasted decades, no matter how long they’d been apart or how far they’d traveled. Cedric eventually couldn’t handle the killing, the constant fighting of the Scoia’tael; he’d left Iorveth, moved to Lobinden in Flotsam. It had pained both of them beyond belief, but Cedric was at risk of losing his mind. As it stood, he lost himself in drink anyway.

Iorveth had never expected Cedric to remain chaste after he’d left the Scoia’tael, moved in with the human and elven civilians. Of course he hadn’t, but… he hadn’t expected  _ Ciaran _ would have ever had the chance, despite being well aware of their fondness for each other. He isn’t  _ upset, _ though. In truth, Cedric and Ciaran would have been lovely together. All three of them would have been. If only things had been different. Maybe if… if Cedric hadn’t died so soon.

The alcohol, that would’ve been why he hadn’t trusted himself to do this for Ciaran. Iorveth’s heart clenches. Of  _ course _ Cedric had looked out for Ciaran, showed Ciaran how to do it for him instead so they could still be together that night. Cedric had always had too big a heart.

“Oh,” he says dumbly. When he sees the look on Ciaran’s face, as if braced for reprimand, Iorveth sighs, regains composure. He’s not upset; he needs to convey that to Ciaran, despite how difficult it is to think about Cedric. “It’s funny, then—Cedric was the first to do this for  _ me.” _

Iorveth tries on a watery smile, for reassurance. Ciaran breathes out and relaxes, clearly relieved, and nods.

“I’m glad he had you,” Iorveth adds quietly. He sees Ciaran’s brows knit together, his honeyed eyes beginning to glisten. “Oh, love…” Iorveth pushes himself up, minding the hand with oiled fingers, and wraps his arm around Ciaran, who’s sat up to meet him.

Ciaran sniffles. “I’m just happy to have had  _ him,” _ __he whispers, holding Iorveth tightly with both arms. Iorveth feels wetness on his bare shoulder, and rubs his hand up and down Ciaran’s back soothingly. “Even for so short a time.”

Iorveth nods, and moves back to look at Ciaran’s face, to use his clean hand to wipe the tears away. He kisses Ciaran’s nose, then touches their foreheads together.

“And now  _ I’m _ the one so lucky as to have you,” Iorveth tells him, taking the quiet moment to let his gaze drift over Ciaran’s delicate features. His small, broad nose with its hardly-there bridge and sparsely dusted faint freckles, wide pink lips, trembling now but so quick to frown or smile, his high tear-streaked cheekbones and soft but stubborn jaw. His honey-hued eyes with their folded lids are captivating, despite their watery state, and Iorveth smiles.

Truly, Ciaran is nothing less than breathtaking.

“You’re lovely,” Iorveth murmurs. Ciaran’s laugh bubbles out of his throat, and he wipes his eyes. Ciaran kisses him, then, long and soft but not without some heat, an urge for more.

“I’m—I’m alright, now, I think,” Ciaran says. “If you still want, we can…”

Iorveth presses their mouths together again warmly, opens his lips, and Ciaran sighs into this kiss. They remain there for a few long moments, moving together, pushing and pulling and exploring as heat builds itself once again.

“If you’re sure?” Iorveth asks, lips brushing Ciaran’s as he speaks. Ciaran nods enthusiastically. “Well, if you still want to try that—”

“I do,” Ciaran interrupts firmly, a smile playing at his lips as he scoots back to lower himself down. Iorveth chuckles lightly and shrugs before kissing Ciaran’s shoulder, his abdomen, and then the head of his cock.

Ciaran whimpers as Iorveth takes him in his mouth again, fingers tangling in Iorveth’s hair anew. Iorveth raises the hand with the buttery substance on his fingers and makes a noise of questioning.

_ “Please,” _ __Ciaran breathes, wasting no time in spreading his thighs open wide.

Iorveth runs his index finger along the sensitive skin behind Ciaran’s balls, strokes at the tight ring of muscle gently, patiently. Then he swallows Ciaran all the way down, opening his throat once again, and Ciaran gasps and his thighs twitch and Iorveth feels the muscle relax slightly, so he takes the chance and presses the tip of his finger in. Iorveth works his tongue on the underside of Ciaran’s cock all the while, sucking intermittently, as he slips the finger further and wiggles it.

“It doesn’t hurt,” Ciaran tells Iorveth, looking down at him. “You could—” he gasps again as Iorveth pushes the finger further, to the second knuckle, and bends it, “—could add a second.”

He hums, the vibrations on his cock doing mad things to Ciaran’s brain, and pulls out momentarily to scoop a more sizable glob. Then Iorveth pushes the first finger all the way in, twisting it around to ensure Ciaran is relaxed enough, and presses another against the opening. Iorveth’s fingers are those of an archer: skilled, long, slender, calloused at the tips. The second slides in with little resistance, so Iorveth slowly starts to scissor the two fingers apart.

Ciaran is making small noises continuously, his free hand scrabbling against the sheets, so Iorveth doesn’t feel the need to free his mouth and ask if things are alright. He has a feeling Ciaran would object, besides.

Instead, he hooks his two fingers and searches for a little bundle of nerves—

_ “Ah! _ Gods,  _ Iorveth—” _ __Ciaran cries out, as he grinds his hips downward to push Iorveth’s fingers deeper.

Iorveth grins despite himself, pulling back slightly to swirl his tongue at Ciaran’s cockhead. There would be that, then, he thinks, as he continues stroking at the spot inside.

“Add a third.” Ciaran is panting, and Iorveth raises one brow. Ciaran looks down at him and nearly  _ scowls. _ __ _ “Please, _ I  _ can _ —add a third.”

He wonders if perhaps Ciaran knows he can because he’s done it himself—and isn’t  _ that _ an image. Just after scissoring the two already there some more, Iorveth obeys, adds just enough pressure to push his third finger inside and at the same time moves downward to take in more of Ciaran’s cock. He stretches them out, loosening Ciaran further, before bending his fingers so the calluses at the tips press the pleasure spot again.

Ciaran  _ keens, _ __a drawn-out and desperate sound.

“I’m going to—Iorveth, can I—?” he gasps out.

Rather than answer (Ciaran undoubtedly worried about spending into Iorveth’s mouth), Iorveth hums and takes Ciaran down completely, then presses his long, deft archer’s fingers more deliberately to the nerve bundle. Ciaran grinds down onto Iorveth’s fingers and moans brokenly, then he shudders and all his muscles tense as he comes down Iorveth’s throat with a sharp cry.

Iorveth has no trouble swallowing and releases Ciaran’s cock slowly, with a couple last strokes of the tongue. He moves to pull his hand out, possibly to finish himself off, if need be, when Ciaran grabs his wrist.

Ciaran shakes his head, almost dazed. “Don’t stop.”

“Ciaran?” Iorveth asks, waiting for some explanation, but instead Ciaran sits up and grabs Iorveth’s neck and face to kiss him, lick his way into Iorveth’s mouth and taste his own spend on Iorveth. He’s messy about it, their tongues and teeth clashing, and it’s  _ wonderful. _

Experimentally, Iorveth bends the fingers again, only slightly. Ciaran’s breath catches, but he continues kissing Iorveth with fervor. He pulls away after a few moments.

“Can you—Iorveth, would you…”

It begins to dawn on Iorveth what Ciaran wants from him. He supposes he shouldn’t be too surprised, and most elves of any sex don’t have much trouble going multiple rounds in a row, but… Somehow, it’s almost unbelievable, too good to be true.

Part of him wants to abide Ciaran immediately, but a bigger part wants to  _ tease. _

“Hm? What is it you’d like of me, little love of mine?” Iorveth asks, his voice entirely innocent as he bends his fingers more, moves them, rubs them.

Ciaran pushes himself further onto his fingers, groans lowly, seizes Iorveth’s mouth with his again.

_ “Fuck me,” _ __the command is nearly a growl against Iorveth’s lips, and it shoots down through Iorveth’s spine. Ciaran’s voice grows softer, then; breathy. _ “Please, _ __Iorveth, I need you in me—I want to be fucked, want to know what it feels like, just, _ please.” _

To hell with teasing, because Ciaran is  _ begging _ him and there’s no way Ciaran could have known that that’s what Iorveth loves more than anything but here they are and Iorveth cannot  _ possibly _ refuse this. He’s nodding before he even realizes it, removing his fingers gently, then lowering Ciaran backwards onto the bed and being pulled down with him.

“How can I say no when you’ve asked so nicely?” Iorveth’s voice is bright; his eye shines delightedly.

Ciaran nearly laughs, but he’s too impatient to waste more time and makes a grab for Iorveth’s remaining clothes. Iorveth tugs down his own trousers, Ciaran’s fumbling hands making a spirited effort to help, and kicks them aside before quickly smearing some more of the oil onto himself and positioning himself at Ciaran’s opening, looking up at him for confirmation.

Ciaran hooks his ankles around Iorveth’s hips and pulls his face down to meet him in a crushing kiss.

“Now—oh  _ fuck—” _ __All of Ciaran’s coherent thought is interrupted as Iorveth finally pushes himself in.

Iorveth starts slowly, with care. Not because he’s worried to break Ciaran, just to drag out the pleasure, to drink in the sight before him: one of the most stunning elves Iorveth has ever had the good fortune of meeting, his head thrown back and eyes glazed with unabashed pleasure as his hands claw at the sheets, a pink flush decorating his golden skin and moans and gasps falling from his lips. Legs spread open, toes curling, for  _ him. _ __For Iorveth and no one else.

He continues pushing further into the tight heat of Ciaran in small increments, occasionally pulling back just a little before thrusting in even further and drawing more noises from lovely Ciaran.

Iorveth knows, somewhere, in the back of his mind, how he must look, mouth parted and  _ staring _ in complete awe at the elf before him as if he’s a great wonder of the world, but he’s too occupied with every single aspect of Ciaran to care. Ciaran looks… absolutely unbelievable on Iorveth’s cock, already falling apart at the seams just from Iorveth’s affections, from the friction.

“Ciaran… Ciaran, you’re  _ gorgeous,” _ __he breathes, still absolutely awestruck. Ciaran _ does _ laugh at that.

“You can… go in all the way, I think,” Ciaran says through his gasps, rather than responding to the compliment. “I’ll let you know if there’s anything—if you need to stop.”

His voice is uneven, there’s pauses between his words as his lashes flutter and he takes in deep breaths. Ciaran is a  _ mess, _ __and _ gods _ is it incredible, and Iorveth is pressing himself inward until he’s fully sheathed and the two of them touch their foreheads together and sigh.

“Mmm, alright, love?” Iorveth hums amicably, teasing.

“Y-yeah…  _ yeah,” _ __Ciaran breathes out, his eyes closed as he nods. He drapes his arms loosely over Iorveth’s shoulders.

Then Iorveth starts to  _ move, _ __and now his breath hitches with the pull and push of it all, the rhythm. He presses his lips to Ciaran’s with a broken sigh, so Ciaran can _ feel _ his shakiness, the unevenness in his breathing that gives away his pleasure even when he makes no noise. Ciaran cants his hips up, coaxing Iorveth to go further, and Iorveth obliges without a word.

It isn’t long before there’s that tugging of his nerves down low, urging him to speed his pace, and Iorveth does and then there’s more of those lovely noises of Ciaran’s, the moans and whimpers, against his  _ lips _ now. Iorveth savors the hot drag in and out, the tightness and  _ heat, _ __just as he savors the way Ciaran’s hands grow more desperate as they frantically twitch across his shoulders and back and neck searching for a hold.

_ “Grab me,” _ __Iorveth tells him, and it’s almost an _ order, _ __but Ciaran hesitates for a split second. “Your nails aren’t long and—” a sharp breath at a movement “—and it’s—nice.”

So Ciaran reaches down further and has his hands grab at the skin of Iorveth’s back, feeling those welts under his fingers once again, and then when Iorveth pushes himself fully in with a snapping thrust Ciaran finds himself groaning and raking nails across shoulder blades. Iorveth shudders and sighs at the feeling of blunt nails clawing at him, not enough to hurt but enough to feel Ciaran’s desperation take form and  _ pull _ at him.

At the next thrust Ciaran’s head falls back with a long, breathy moan, his hips shifting as if he can somehow take Iorveth impossibly deeper, his whole body shaking with each push of Iorveth’s, his face flushed near as brightly as his cock. One of Ciaran’s hands goes to grab at his own hair as he completely and utterly falls apart.

_ “Gods, _ Iorveth, keep  _ going—” _ __Ciaran whines, his back arching off the bed.

In that moment, something swells in Iorveth’s chest and he wants nothing more than to  _ ruin _ Ciaran, to ruin him for sex with anyone else so he can have this lovely elf to himself until the end of time.

_ “Ciaran— _ __you’re fucking _ incredible,” _ __Iorveth’s voice shakes and it’s hardly a breath but he _ means _ it with everything he has.

Ciaran surges upwards, grabbing Iorveth again and shoving his face into Iorveth’s neck and collarbone, letting out one whimper. “G-go faster.  _ Please.” _

With that, every last piece of Iorveth’s remaining self-control, that want to make this last as long as he can, dissolves into nothing. He braces himself and  _ goes faster, _ __flexing his thighs and hips to thrust into Ciaran over and over, to coax more of the noises from Ciaran’s lips because _ gods _ he wants Ciaran to be  _ loud. _

“F-fuck,  _ Iorveth, _ __I want—I want to _ come, _ ” Ciaran whimpers. Iorveth pulls back so he can see Ciaran’s face again, kiss him hotly. Ciaran moans against his mouth with each thrust of Iorveth’s hips.

“Wonderful, you’re  _ wonderful,” _ __Iorveth pants between kisses, feeling the drag of Ciaran’s cock against his abdomen, knowing how that friction pulls. But he continues to speed his hips, to give Ciaran what he needs.

“Please— _ please, _ __just a little— _ more… _ __I want—”

“I know, I  _ know, _ __Ciaran— _ come _ for me, love.”

“ _ Ah _ —ah,  _ Iorveth!” _

Ciaran’s entire body clenches and he pulls at Iorveth’s hair and rakes those blunt nails across his back and he  _ shudders _ and spills between them, gasping out Iorveth’s name and pushing Iorveth over the edge with the desperation of it. Iorveth thrusts one last time and comes, too, at the feeling of Ciaran tightening around him, and he crushes their mouths together as he finally spends deep inside of Ciaran.

They stay like that for a few moments, waiting out the last twitches of muscle, that itch to pull and shift closer, before Iorveth relaxes and slides himself out, collapsing just to the side.

He wastes no time, however, in tugging Ciaran closer, wrapping his arms around his lover and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I hope that lived up to your dreams,” Iorveth murmurs, partially teasing but partly checking in on his young partner. These things can be… overwhelming.

Ciaran  _ smiles, _ __so bright it’s dazzling. “Far better.”

Iorveth feels a weight lift from his heart and then he’s smiling, too, before he can stop himself, so he nuzzles into Ciaran’s hair. “I’m… I’m glad.”

There’s a hand on his cheek and then Iorveth is being pulled into a sweet kiss, lingering.

“Thank you,” Ciaran whispers.

Iorveth laughs and kisses Ciaran’s nose, quickly, then both his eyelids, and begins to pepper more kisses all over Ciaran’s face. Ciaran starts to giggle.

“Oh,  _ thanking _ me, as if I had no ulterior motives of my own,” Iorveth teases, finishing his flurry with one long kiss to Ciaran’s soft lips. Ciaran nudges his knees over and between Iorveth’s, tangling their legs.

Iorveth can’t quite accept the thanks, can’t quite acknowledge what the thanks is  _ for, _ __so he teases, and he’s lucky Ciaran accepts that rather than persisting.

“Well, you’ll  _ never _ be rid of me now, since I know how  _ that _ feels,” Ciaran says, a gleam of mischief in his honeyed eyes. Iorveth grins at that.

“I was counting on it,” he replies. Ciaran laughs and knocks their foreheads together.

After that they settle down, Iorveth leaning down to tug the blanket over the two of them. They can clean themselves tomorrow, talk tomorrow, but for now there’s rest and warmth and comfort to be found in each other, in tangled limbs and calm breathing.

Both elves are nearly asleep when a pull at Iorveth’s heart prompts him to speak again, his normally loud and brash voice hardly more than a whisper.

“Thank  _ you… _ __for coming back to me. After Flotsam. For giving all this another chance,” Iorveth murmurs, only half expecting a response.

“I could never have stayed away.”

**Author's Note:**

> this is of course only even possible because of my own lovely Cedric and Ciaran (Squoxie and thechemical girl, we've all been doing some silly sweet rps together for a while now), so please check out their own wonderful elfy works.
> 
> also that was indeed my first time writing smut, so I hope it passed the test and brought smiles to some faces!! I adore comments and absolutely any would be so greatly appreciated. I just love these two and all the warmth and happiness there
> 
> if you happen to like these cute niche elves then PLEASE feel free to join our lil server (for LGBT+ fans of the witcher, including aces/aros obv) and come yell about the gays!  
> <https://discord.gg/8M79ymR>
> 
> anyway I truly do hope you enjoyed, and have a lovely day wherever you are!
> 
> ~R / brennan


End file.
